Starfish
by the cookie crumbler
Summary: Broken and alone Harry must find a way to heal.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the Harry Potter universe. Those unfortunately belong to J. K. Rowling

So I am trying again, one story with actual chapters, just one of many plots that is running through my head, whether or not I update depends on two things, whether I can find a job and if I get any response what so ever. Be warned I write for myself, not for you, if you enjoy this then I applaud you if you don't your comments will be duly noted and thoroughly ignored.

Warning: Starfish is presently a fic in the first person, this is subject to change, I have no plans as of yet for it other than basic plot.

STARFISH 

The first thing that bears remembering are the lights.

Flat panel.

Fluorescent lights.

Flashing by me.

Above my head.

I counted them, there were exactly 13 lights between the time I roused and the second I went back into the darkness. Faces swam before the flashes, blurry beings that I didn't recognize as human then but I have since sorted as such. I am in a hospital, I remember the lights because that is what I see most frequently. There are 42 lights between my room and operation room 3, 56 from operation room 6 to my usual bed and 105 from here to the roof, Terence thought I needed to get some air. It made me unbelievably sad to see the birds chasing each other across the sky; I think I actually cried then. I can't remember any other times I cried. In fact I can't remember much of anything before those lights as they wheeled me into the emergency room.

I have been in the hospital for 10 days. Correction I have been fully awake and aware for 10 days, I have been in the hospital for three weeks. I should have been cleared already to go home but I am currently a John Doe, a full amnesiac who also suffers from partial paralysis, the lack of one hand, three fingers and one leg seems to be missing at the knee. My better arm was fractured and my head took more than a bit of a beating. I don't know exactly how I got here, but as I mentioned before I don't remember much of anything that directly relates to my life including, apparently, any education above the level of the fifth form. I am a bit of a trouble case in any regard.

The hospital has been forced to keep me until a spot opens in one of the group homes that is equipped to handle cases such as mine or until I am self sufficient, whichever happens first, I personally am rooting for a miraculous rescue by a doting family but that seems a little far fetched at this point. The social worker referred to as "_Please_ call me _Annie." _bubbly assured me that "all _possible_ actions" were being made in an effort to find my "surely desperate" family. All eye rolling was scrupulously ignored.

Anyway my bones need to mend and I need a chair rigged up so that I can wheel myself around, or rather have the chair wheel me around as there is no way I will have the upper arm strength to get myself around, at least until they fit me up for a fake hand. I don't know if I really want one, I get the heebie jeebies just thinking about it. Terence, who has nominated himself as nurse in charge of my affairs, has assured me that it will be neither silver nor a fully functional black but I should be able to grip some objects and will be able to change it's contortions with my functioning finger and thumb. Silverware is difficult right now to say the least.

The most amusing part of my stay would have to be the names Terrence and the other nurses have come up with for me in an effort to jog my memory, Luke is Terrence's favorite in honour of my questions on the hand situation though he also uses Mike. Jonsey (who's first name I don't know as she refuses to admit to having one) calls me hop-along, Bea calls me Gordon because I remind her of her husband (she says it's the hair), Jenny calls me assorted English and Irish names from Acton to, well we're up to Faolan and still going strong. Jin is stuck on spunk-meister and the lady who brings me breakfast on Monday calls me darling. The Doc rarely uses a name referring to me as "Our Resident Nobody" or "My Favorite Survivor" both annoy the crap out of me but he refuses to use a normal designation until I chose a name to go by or remember my proper one. He really isn't that much of a stick-in-the mud fussbudget but he's been reading all the wrong psyc books.

It is most lonely at night I sleep intermittently but my missing limbs ache and my old scar burns. This is something that I find most alarming, I told Terrence about it the first night it kept me awake; he got The Doc to look at it. The vague lightning bolt hidden under my bandages isn't even recent; it is, according to the doctor, at least a year old and probably more than that. The Doc couldn't tell me what made it burn, he couldn't even field a guess, he signed me up for an MRI though, I go down next week whether I am released yet or not. He seems worried. I'm not, worried that is, strangely enough this dull ache from an old scar is the most familiar thing I've encountered since I woke up. It must be important somehow.

The scar and the birds.

Birds are at least normal, who wouldn't want to fly, and they weren't so much familiar, they were more a remembrance of a past longing.

That sounds so nancy, God I hope I'm not gay, that would be just the icing on the cake, Hi I am John Doe gay paraplegic amnesiac, who are you. Not that girls would be so much easier at this point but I guess I would feel vaguely normal if I had one thing that set me up as part of the vast majority instead of one of the varied minorities.

It's odd, sometimes I can still feel my missing leg but the leg that I still have might as well be gone considering the amount of response I get from it. Then again anything below my belly button is pretty much not there. At least I can eat food still even though hospital food leaves me craving steaks and fried chicken. Which I cannot remember ever having but, oh, their scents play upon my irrepressible senses. Jin keeps bringing in flowers, outside food and other fragrant things in an attempt to make my scent recognition trigger the rest of my memory, sometimes that strikes me as not entirely on the up and up but I won't say no to a beautiful woman stopping by daily to have me smell things for her. The social worker on my case though is a regular vulture, she circles; I dread her coming and she too is what in a reasonable world would rate as beautiful but she would placate the prime-minister if she were faced with him. Ick.

The night though is something that I find hard to face. I want to sleep but dread keeps me awake, more oft the not I wake up screaming. I can't remember the dreams though, The Doc thinks I might have epilepsy or something because after some of these nightmares I am shaking with more than reaction and my nervous system is shot to hell. Those are the nights that I can feel my missing leg. Sleeping pills make it worse, but painkillers help. They don't want me to get hooked on the things though so I can only take them after the bad nights when I can barely move my head when I wake up.

All I can remember is that something bad is happening and I need to tell someone but I can't remember what it is. Terrence first took me up to the roof after one of the really bad ones, he propped me up and we watched the sun rise. I told him about the helplessness, he understood, he told me to tell him anything I managed to remember from these dreams, no matter how fanciful or painful it might be.

I have only remembered two things; the screams and the silence.


End file.
